


Old Dalish Remedy

by AlyaRayne



Series: The Tales of Mahanon Lavellan [4]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Lyrium Addiction, Lyrium Withdrawal, M/M, Mahanon trying to be a happy bean while also being a stressed bean, Mentioned Cullen Rutherford/Female Trevelyan - Freeform, Mentioned Dorian Pavus/Male Lavellan, Poor Cullen, old Dalish remedies that taste like ass, poor Mahanon, seriously that thing deserves a warning, whatever drink Rocky made
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-01
Updated: 2019-10-01
Packaged: 2020-11-10 14:37:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20853410
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlyaRayne/pseuds/AlyaRayne
Summary: It was dusk, close enough to night that Skyhold’s staff had begun lighting lanterns, and the breeze was just turning unpleasantly chilly. Mahanon repressed a shiver, both from the frigid air and the thought of trying to talk Cullen down when he was this upset. If Cassandra couldn’t help, he had no idea what he was meant to do. But, he was clan Lavellan’s First, and the Inquisitor so there was no way he wasn’t at least going to try.





	Old Dalish Remedy

Cassandra had come to Mahanon earlier, explaining that Cullen was having a harder time than usual dealing with lyrium withdrawal symptoms. By the account of several servants he’d run into along the way, Cullen had been short and irritable with them when they tried to deliver food at Josephine’s request, paperwork at Leliana’s request, and bring him the information he’d asked to have delivered about the activities of the red templars.

Now Mahanon made his way up the stairs to Cullen’s office, a small vial in his hand that was filled with an odd mix of green paste and yellowish liquid. He paused in front of the door, ears twitching as he heard the sounds of agitated footsteps over the stone floor, followed by cursing.

It was dusk, close enough to night that Skyhold’s staff had begun lighting lanterns, and the breeze was just turning unpleasantly chilly. Mahanon repressed a shiver, both from the frigid air and the thought of trying to talk Cullen down when he was this upset. If Cassandra couldn’t help, he had no idea what he was meant to do. But, he was clan Lavellan’s First, and the Inquisitor so there was no way he wasn’t at least going to try.

He took a deep breath and knocked softly on the door three times. Instantly the footsteps stopped and a voice rang out, “Now is not the best time so please leave.” Cullen sounded rough, on edge and tense, as if he were a bowstring drawn so tightly it was just on the verge of snapping.

“Cullen, It’s Mahanon. I’ve got something that might help you. Could I please come in?” He called through the door, his voice ringing loudly through the mountain air.

“Inquisitor, I’m sure you have good intentions but now is not the time to be in this office,” answered Cullen, sounding closer to the door than before.

“Nor is it the best time to be the Inquisitor, what with Corypheus and all, but here we are. Please Cullen, I just want to help.” A sharp sigh was his only response before the doorknob turned. He took a step back just far enough to not seem like he was pushing to get in.

Cullen looked exhausted, with deep purple shadows under his eyes and a gaunt, grey pallor to his skin. His hair, usually so neatly groomed, was a complete mess that curled in every direction it could manage. And maybe some directions it shouldn’t be able too. His eyes were bloodshot, the usually golden brown iris dark and haunted. He looked every bit the tormented lyrium addict and it broke Mahanon’s heart.

Rather than dwell on the pain Cullen must be in, Mahanon offered the vial, it’s contents sloshing quite unappetizingly. Cullen looked at it as one might look at sick on their shoe, his eyebrows lowering in confusion.

“What is that?” he asked, voice rough with pain and disgust. Despite being a human in his thirties, Cullen looked very much like a child offered vegetables for the first time. It made Mahanon’s lips twitch up in a very small smile.

“An old Dalish recipe. To help with your problem.” Mentioning the lyrium addiction usually made Cullen uneasy, so they had all taken to referring to it as his ‘problem’. It seemed to help him cope, and that was all any of the inner circle could ask for.

“What did you put in it?” he asked, now sounding less in pain and more repulsed. Mahanon supposed that was something at least.

“A few herbs and such. The base is elfroot. It’s meant to relax you and help take your mind off the discomfort. Also, it’ll help you sleep,” explained Mahanon, still holding out the vial. The truth was, Mahanon figured if he told Cullen everything that went into this particular Dalish remedy, he’d never even consider touching it.

“And I’m meant to drink that?” asked Cullen, eyebrow raising as he observed the contents that oozed down the side of the glass.

“Well, it’s more a cross between eating and drinking, but yes, that’s the idea.” Mahanon’s smile grew a little more when Cullen shuddered.

“That doesn’t look like it's going to do anything but make me vomit,” he said after a second.

“Don’t worry, my clan used it quite often after celebrations. It works quite well for hangovers, too.” Behind him the breeze picked up, swirling his coat around him. He shivered from his toes to the tips of his ears, unable to stop himself this time. “Can I come in, or do you prefer the bite of cold mountain air?”

Cullen didn’t answer, still contemplating the green sludge, but he did step aside. Mahanon stepped gratefully into the much warmer office. Once he was inside, Cullen shut the door before turning to face Mahanon.

“What does it do, exactly?” he asked, gesturing vaguely to the vial. Before he could answer, Mahanon’s eyes locked on the open box of supplies on Cullen’s desk. The statue of Andraste was facing him, haunting with her vaguely carved features and empty eyes. Cullen must have noticed what had caught his attention, because he was quickly stammering out, “I wasn’t going to use it.”

He seemed almost guilty when Mahanon looked back at him. As if he were a child caught playing with his father’s sword. “I know, Cullen.” Was all he said, wanting to reach out and offer a comforting hand, but he worried that Cullen would flinch away. “The potion helps relax you and calm your mind so you can focus on other things besides the lyrium. That or it will put you to sleep. And the taste should help distract you too.”

Cullen laughed, a soft, strained sound that was more a huff than anything else, but it was still good to hear. He shrugged, not an easy thing to do through the pauldrons and fur, and took the vial. He popped to cork and tipped the sludge into his mouth. He shuddered, almost choking at one point, and Mahanon felt sorry for him. It was not a fun thing to try and choke down.

When all of it was gone, he set the vial on his desk, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand. “That was the worst thing I’ve ever tasted,” he said, coughing. Mahanon nodded.

“Dalish remedies are very useful, but seldom very palatable, unfortunately,” he said, slipping the vial into his coat pocket.

“How long before it takes effect?” asked Cullen, taking a long drink from a mug of what looked like water.

“Not very long. Ten minutes maybe, give or take. Do you want me to stay while you wait?” he asked, hoping Cullen said yes. Mahanon didn’t want him to be alone right now.

“That would be...appreciated, Inquisitor,” Cullen answered to Mahanon’s relief.

“Mahanon, please Cullen. I think we’re on a first-name basis now that I’ve given you green Dalish sludge.”

Cullen laughed, a little less strained now. “Very well, then. Thank you, Mahanon.”

“I would recommend that you sit down though. That potion packs a hell of a punch, at least in my experience,” said Mahanon, shrugging out of his coat and setting it on the back of the chair across from Cullen Cullen sat as well, though his coat stayed on. He’d told Mahanon once that he felt like he was freezing when the withdrawal hit, and that’s why he preferred more layers.

He purposefully avoided the box, Mahanon noticed, instead choosing to shuffle a few papers around. “I’ll have my report on the activities of the Red Templars in the Emerald Graves to you by tomorrow morning,” he said without looking up.

“I’m not worried about it, Cullen. Our scouts are keeping watch, and Leliana would get any news about a change in their behavior long before either of us would. Take your time to heal.” Mahanon said, shifting to cross his legs.

“Thank you, Inqusi- uh, Mahanon, but I feel better when I have something to take my mind off of...things.” He looked towards the lyrium box, his eyes darkening for just a second before he pulled his gaze away.

“Completely understandable. In that case, get back to work, Commander. No more slacking or I’ll force you to play Wicked Grace with us again.” Cullen laughed, this time full and real.

“Please, can we not mention that again. I still haven’t gotten over the embarrassment.” There was a blush on his cheeks, faint but definitely there.

“Which is why it’s the perfect threat,” Mahanon replied with a smile of his own. It felt good to talk about things other than battle strategy for once.

“Very true. You always do hand out the best punishments.” Cullen paused then, seemingly contemplating something. “How can you still find it in yourself to make jokes when the world is falling apart?” He asked, and though the question could be taken as rude, he asked it sincerely.

Mahanon looked down at his hands, at the faint green glow coming from underneath the half-glove he had on, and shrugged. “You can’t fight an enemy if you’re an enemy to yourself. The worst will come when it wants and dwelling on it will cause only premature suffering. You have to live knowing that everything could end in a second, but every second that it doesn’t is a gift that shouldn’t be wasted. It doesn’t do to dwell on despair when the world is so full of beauty.” He said, reciting the words he’d heard a thousand times from Keeper Istimaethoriel when tragedy struck the clan.

“That’s an...interesting outlook.” said Cullen, “And some very good advice, especially in times like this. But is it that easy to follow?”

“No, not at all. In fact, it’s one of the hardest things to try and learn, and I still haven’t figured out how to stop being pessimistic if I’m honest. But all you have to do is remember that nothing in nature ever stays stagnant. Dark times cannot last forever just as how the darkest night cannot stop a sunrise.”

“But the same holds true for good times as well. Even if everything is perfect, it’ll always get worse,” said Cullen, his expression dark.

“True enough, but that just means that you have to make enough good memories to see yourself through the hardships,” said Mahanon with a nod. “And I think I know a certain someone who would love to make some good memories with you.”

At this Cullen turned pink from his hair to his neck, and most likely beyond. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he said, voice a full octave higher as the words spilled out. The pitch made Mahanon’s ears twitch and lower, trying to protect themselves from any more noises like that. He shook his head, unable to stop the laugh from bubbling up in his chest.

“Of course you don’t.” He said through his laughter. “Because you and Kathryn haven’t been talking to each other every chance you get.”

“Lady Trevelyan is a noblewoman with a kind heart. She checks up on all of the soldiers of the Inquisition,” said Cullen, turning an even darker shade of red. It was quite amusing to see Cullen, normally so in control, blushing like a schoolboy over the slightest mention of the Inquisition’s Noble mage.

“Yes, she does. But she tends to seek you out far more than the others.”

“She has many good ideas on strategy, and how best to use our forces,” argued Cullen, his blush now almost purple. His eyes were also less dark, more golden brown now, and with a sheen that told Mahanon it wouldn’t be long before the potion kicked in fully.

“Alright, I’ll give. She only visits you to talk strategy and nothing more. Does that make you feel better?”

“Not at all.”

“Glad I could help,” Mahanon said through a smirk. He’d missed doing this. Just talking with a friend as if there was nothing more to worry about than where the next meal was coming from.

Cullen’s head drooped an inch forward for a second before he raised it again. “Besides,” he said, eyes just starting to glaze over. “You visit Dorian twice as much as the rest of us.”

“Yes but Cullen, Dorian is actually my lover.” he said, “Or had you not heard?”

At this Cullen spluttered, seemingly not sure of how to respond. He cleared his throat a second later, saying indignantly, “Be that as it may, nothing is going on between Lady Trevelyan and myself.”

“But you both wish there was.” Cullen at up straight, eyes alight with indignation and embarrassment. And no small amount of denial.

“That’s hardly...” he broke off, clearing his throat, “That doesn’t...” he broke off again. “Inquisitor, that’s not...”

“Relax, Cullen. I’m only teasing you,” said Mahanon, holding up his hand. “And I thought we’d agreed that it was Mahanon from now on.”

“Not when you’re playing the part of an Orlesion Jester, Inquisitor.”

“Touché,” Cullen’s eyes were beginning to droop now, his form sliding a little further down the chair.

“Oh Maker, don’t start talking like them too,” he said, sounding as disgusted as when he first saw the potion, but there was a smile turning up the corners of his mouth.

“Don’t worry, Cullen. I doubt I’ll ever be fluent in the language of snobbery and phlegm.”

“I’ve never heard a more apt description,” Cullen said through a yawn. “I think that remedy is starting to work.”

“You may be right,” said Mahanon with an exaggeratedly serious nod. Cullen snorted, his eyes slipping closed.

“Forgive me if I end up falling asleep.” His words were little more than a mumble, and a second later there was a soft snore coming from his slightly open mouth.

Mahanon sighed, the smile disappearing from his face almost as fast as one of his lightning strikes. He hoped that Cullen would sleep through the night, and awaken well rested with no cravings. He knew that this was unlikely, but he could still pray to the Creators for it to happen.

The box was still in the middle of the desk, and Mahanon didn’t want it to be the first thing Cullen saw when he woke. Carefully as he could, he shut the lid and slid it back into the desk drawer, using the key that was already in the lock to secure it.

With one last look towards Cullen to make sure he was still alright, Mahanon walked out of the door and into the cold Skyhold night, slipping into his coat as he went. The stars were out, sparkling against the black, but there wasn’t any majesty Mahanon could find in them tonight.

He’d meant what he said to Cullen. That dwelling on sorrow was a terrible path, and joy should be taken whenever it could. He meant it, but right now he didn’t feel it. Right now, the weight on his chest, the one that crushed him every time he had to decide who to save and who to kill, was a constant reminder of everything that was riding on his shoulders.

It wasn’t fair, but sometimes he wished that his only concern was lyrium addiction or a father that could never love him for who he was, or living a lie to keep from being arrested. He knew in his heart though, that all pain is different, and you can’t compare one person’s hurt to another’s. It was unfair that he’d gotten the mark, and that all this responsibility had been shoved on his shoulders. But it was also unfair that Cullen had become so dependent on lyrium that he had a hard time functioning without it. Neither instance of injustice canceled the other out.

He pulled his hood up over his head and descended the stairs towards the Herald’s Rest. He didn’t want a drink, but he knew that Bull and the Chargers would be there. He knew that Varric and Dorian were probably already playing Wicked Grace and that Sera was mooning over Dagna while she talked endlessly about whatever new thing she was crafting. He knew that Cole would be waiting, legs dangling over the edge of the staircase, for Mahanon to come and talk to him as he did every night.

He didn’t need a drink, but he did need a few hours to unwind; to be Mahanon among a group of friends instead of the Inquisitor surrounded by his advisers.

Mahanon let his hood drop as he walked in the door, immediately hit by the scents of warm bread and alcohol. He was greeted instantly by a cheer from the Chargers, and before he could fully get in the door Krem was handing him a half-empty mug of ale, shouting over the din to tell him to try Rocky’s new concoction. He took a deep breath, steeling himself, and took a swig. Instantly he regretted it, the liquid burning like fire the whole way down, but as the inferno settled in his stomach and he was swept up into the group, he figured that though it was disgusting, it might just be the remedy he needed.

**Author's Note:**

> Holy shit look at that, two stories in one day! It's a miracle!!! Also, this story has been finished for a few weeks but I got busy and forgot to publish it. Whoops! Anyway, I hope you enjoyed it! Happy month of Halloween!


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